The Delibash

By Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin

With the hostile camp in skirmish

    Our men once were changing shot,

Pranced the Delibash his charger

  'Fore our ranks of Cossacks hot.

Trifle not with free-born Cossacks!

  Nor too o'er foolhardy be!

Thy mad mood thou wilt atone for--

  On his pike he'll skewer thee!

'Ware friend Cossack! Or at full bound,

  Off thy head, at lightning speed

With his scimitar he'll sever

  From thy trunk! He will indeed!

What confusion! What a roaring!

  Halt! thou devil's pack, have care!

On the pike is lanced the horseman--

  Headless stands the Cossack there!